


A Bit Quite Good

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bisexual John, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Online Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 09:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14668191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: After chatting online for a while, John is keen to meet the person he's been chatting to. As it turns out, they've already met. Kind of.





	A Bit Quite Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyTuesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTuesday/gifts).



> A birthday gift for a lovely friend. <3

_I’m bi._

 

John stared at the words, the cursor blinking patiently at him while he considered the words. The tiny sentence was somehow more significant than whole reams of words he’d written in his life so far. Just typing it had made his heart beat faster, and now he was contemplating sending it to someone he’d never met. The idea had advantages, of course, but there was one disadvantage he couldn’t ignore.

Once out there, it was irretrievable.

John shook himself. This was ridiculous. Before he could think any further, he pressed the return key, sending his words out to the waiting green icon that was his penpal. Penpal? As he mused on the exact right word for this person, John watched the ellipsis flash. Now that there was no reneging on his actions, he felt the same calm that always pervaded him when the shit might be about to hit the –

 

_Okay. Did you want to talk about it, or should I ask instead about that patient and his mishap with the fishing hooks?_

 

A wave of relief came over John. Sam – his correspondent ( _no, too impersonal_ ) – had noted his declaration and obviously thought it not worth discussion, unless John wanted to talk. Perfect response, really. He felt the stress begin to leave him as he remembered the patient Sam was asking about and started typing an explanation of how they’d freed the man’s nipples from the fishing hooks with which he’d ‘accidentally’ skewered himself.

As he waited for Sam to read and reply, John’s mind wandered. By now he and Sam had an easy camaraderie. They’d met when John answered a question on a message board about the effect of leaving a bullet wound un-tended for a period of time. It was something he’d had far too much grim experience with during his time in Afghanistan, and he’d responded at length. The original poster had probed him on his answer, and they’d ended up taking the conversation to private messages after the moderator had asked them to stop clogging up the board. That had been months ago, and John found himself looking forward to their conversations. Sam was online at odd hours, which suited John’s shift work – the ER was always open, of course, and the more he worked, the less he noticed the lack of anything else in his life.

 

_John?_

 

_Yeah, sorry. I’m here._

_Are you alright?_

_Yes…just thinking._

_About?_

_You, actually. I get the impression you’re in London._

_How did you_

_I am._

_So am I._

_Are you_

_Are you thinking we should meet, John?_

_The thought had crossed my_

_Yes. Yes I do._

_Sam? What do you think?_

_I’ll have to get back to you._

_Okay. No problem._

John blew out a puff of air, sitting back and running his hands over his face. It was up to Sam now, and all he could do was wait. In the meantime, best he get ready for work again. Double shifts were hardly fun, but they did distract from the depressing nothingness of his current existence. No girlfriend, boyfriend, or even a close mate to decompress with. Dodgy shoulder that kept him in the ER instead of the operating theatre, and a psychosomatic limp to go with it. Crappy flat, lovely-but-overinvolved landlady and a weird guy living in the top floor flat on his own.

London was not as great as he’d dreamed it when he’d been in the desert.

With any luck, this Sam guy (girl? _person_ ) would be up for an occasional pint-and-footy double feature. Grabbing an apple and his bag, John ignored the pang that told him he’d really like more than that. He thought he’d read some of their exchanges as quite flirty, but it was hard to tell online. There was nothing he could do about it, and he wouldn’t be able to check the messenger app at work. He should just put it out of his mind and concentrate on saving the lives (and where possible, the dignity) of the Londoners who came into his ER.

_We should meet. 9pm. Do you know Angelo’s on the corner of Northumberland Street?_

John stared at the message, heart thumping as he confirmed the meeting. Date? He had no idea if it was a date. Checking his watch, he swore a little – a cab was the only way he was going to get there on time. The cabbie was a quiet one, which John appreciated, hoping he didn’t smell too strongly like antiseptic or body fluids. It had been a messy day and he’d been too eager to check his messages to shower after his shift. A good thing he hadn’t, or he’d have missed the time proposed by Sam.

Paying the cabbie, John stepped out, looking up at Angelo’s. He’d never heard of it until he’d bumped into the delivery boy once out the front of his flat. Apparently the guy who lived upstairs was a special customer, but it had smelled so good John didn’t mind having to drop in to pick up dinner. He was just about a regular there himself, now.

“John!” Angelo greeted him warmly. “You should have called, I would have had your meal ready.” When Angelo learned about his Army service and subsequent medical discharge, he’d insisted on feeding John up. He and John had held a good natured argument about paying for meals, until they’d come to a truce – John would order and pay for an entrée, and Angelo would add whatever he thought was appropriate. It worked, and John appreciated the kind man’s concern.

“I’m meeting someone, actually,” John told him, glancing around.

“You’re the second person to say that to me today,” Angelo said, obviously amused. He stepped back, indicating the corner table, currently occupied by…oh.

The weird top floor neighbour. His hair was as remarkable as John remembered it. Amazing bone structure too, he thought absently as he walked over.

“Sam?” John asked.

“Hello, John,” he said, raising his eyes calmly. “Won’t you join me?”

“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” John said, sitting automatically.

“I’m not,” Sam replied. “I deduced your identity not long after we began corresponding.”

“I beg your…you what?” John asked. They’d barely met in person before tonight, how on earth…

“My name is Sherlock Holmes,” he said. “I am a consulting detective. I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end.  Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.”

“I’m not…looking for a flatmate,” John blurted. “Hang on, I already live in the same building as you.”

“Basement flat,” Sherlock said, wrinkling his nose. “Nowhere near as spacious, and the stairs are far steeper and more difficult to negotiate with your limp.”

“Right,” John said, still a bit dazed. He thanked Angelo, who had just brought a plate of lasagne, his usual order; Sherlock was eating… “Is that tiramisu?”

“Best in the city,” Sherlock replied, licking the back of the spoon. “So. What do you say?”

“About?” John asked.

“Do keep up, John!” Sherlock admonished him.

“Right. Why would I be moving in?” John asked.

“I could do with another pair of eyes, experienced eyes. It will be far more convenient if you’re actually in the flat.”

John watched Sherlock’s face as he spoke. For all his casual aloofness, there was a layer of vulnerability evident, especially when his eyes met John’s. “Well, fine,” John said. He paused, then added, “I never asked. Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Not really my area.” Sherlock replied.

“A boyfriend, then?” John asked, ignoring his racing heart.

There was a pause, before Sherlock stammered, “Look, John, while I’m flattered by your interest…”

John snorted, not buying the panic as anything more than a complete lack of coping-with-people skills. “Oh come on, Sherlock, we’ve been flirting for weeks. If you’re interested, say so, but I’m not moving in if it’s going to get all weird the first time I bring someone home because you’ve decided you’re jealous.”

Sherlock stared at him, mouth slightly ajar. He seemed to realise this and snapped it shut, eyes dragging away from John’s. _Called your bluff, didn’t I_ , John thought to himself. He hadn’t been sure if it had actually been flirting, but from Sherlock’s reaction, he’d been right in guessing it was as close as this astonishingly awkward, gorgeous man got to expressing him emotions. Might take some blunt questions to get somewhere with this one, John thought to himself.

“So,” John asked again, “you don’t have a boyfriend, then?”

Sherlock shook his head.

“Fine. Okay, unattached, like me.”

“Like you?” Sherlock asked. His expression was uncertain.

“Yes.” John said, finishing the last of his lasagne. Christ, that was good food. “Unattached but interested in you, actually.” He raised his eyebrows, inviting Sherlock to respond.

“Like me.” Sherlock said, the blush returning to his cheeks. This time he didn’t drop his gaze, and John grinned at him.

“Look, you should know,” Sherlock went on in a rush, “I’m not particularly experienced in this whole…” he waved one hand between them.

“It’s fine,” John said. When Sherlock made another anxious attempt to explain, he raised one hand. “It’s all fine, Sherlock.”

“Good,” Sherlock said finally. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Sam,” John said, grinning at him. “Should we head home, then?”

Sherlock nodded. Angelo refused John’s money – Sherlock made no attempt to pay – and they started back towards Baker Street together. John had the oddest feeling he was taking a monumental leap forward somehow. Glancing up at Sherlock, watching his mouth quirk as he sensed John’s attention, John grinned to himself. A bit quite good, he thought.


End file.
